


tangle, tangles, tangling, tangled

by PersephoneHemingway



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Age Difference, Angst, Darkness, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Reader-Insert, Revenge, Self-Harm, Self-Indulgent, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Variations on a theme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-26
Updated: 2019-07-26
Packaged: 2020-07-20 10:36:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19990756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PersephoneHemingway/pseuds/PersephoneHemingway
Summary: Scenes, loosely scattered and a bit tangled—like the Drifter and you.





	tangle, tangles, tangling, tangled

**Author's Note:**

> um, so I'm high-key obsessed with the drifter so this was inevitable. I tried, and it’s been a long time coming, heh. (sweaty embarrassed emoji) I started drafting this even before Season 6, so some details might be floaty.  
> (also I’m really more of a casual player so don’t you be judging me!)  
> i'm just sad and thirsty (and a slow writer), ok?

Gambit. You were kicking ass and taking names. No one crossed you— not since they heard about what happened. Not since you came back to the Tower alone.

You were fearsome before, but you were dead reckless now. Grief turned to bloodlust all too quickly, and any guardian who ever questioned you before found out damn fast why you were the _Hero of the Red War_ , the Traveler's _Chosen_. 

Lord Shaxx was practically drooling with praise after your Crucible runs, and Zavala couldn't call you out on your sulking when your performance with the Vanguard continued to exceed expectations.

You were bitter. And that's how a green medallion with a symbol of a snake ended up in the hood of your cloak one day, drawing you to a suspicious back room and on to the Derelict.

&

You had _Telesto_ aimed at an envoy and looked for all the world like you were focused to shoot.

The invader lights were down and the poor guy behind you didn't know what hit him.

(It was your handy dandy exploding knife).

You looked at his hovering ghost before turning back to Primeval & Friends™.

"Nice try."

&

In something akin to the Derelict's locker room after your fifth day of Gambit, you pulled off your helmet and cleaned your guns.

"You've been standing there staring for a while now, what do you want?" You addressed a man in scavenged armor and scars, looking like a character plucked straight out of a frontiersman's tall tale. He was leaning in the doorframe.

"Just wanted to say hello to my new Gambit rising star, nothing sinister sister, honest." He held up his fingers crossed and stepped into the room.

"Right. Hi."

"C'mon, thought you were friendly! The Chosen One! Saving the day! Spreading the light!"

You sigh. "Of course you know who I am." You drag your hands down your face. "Thought you were supposed to be some Drifter. And you know me? Thought this was supposed to be anonymous."

You'd been changing up your armor on purpose.

"Who do you think gave you a Gambit coin, sweetheart? And me? I know everyone. Been around a long time, you know."

"So what do you want?"

"To talk."

"Aren't we?"

"Come with me." He started walking. Didn't even wait. You stared, and ultimately followed— perhaps the defining action of the rest of your relationship.

&

He led you to his ‘kitchen’. He rummaged through the cabinets for drinks.

"You've got an awful lot of hate to burn off, sister."

"Yeah, I didn't notice."

"No need to get saucy.” He pulled out a bottle of something you would be hesitant to clean your floor with, lest it burn through to the next flat. When he poured it though, you drank it anyway.

A few glasses of that, and you were pulling off your clothes—completely unabashed at your own approaching nakedness. The Drifter was right there with you—leaning back against the bartop shirtless and smug while you struggled to pull your left leg from your pants. When you found yourself on your ass, the Drifter laughed loud and helped you up, cradling you to his chest. You pushed back from him immediately.

“No. We’re not cuddling while that fucking rocket fuel cooks through my belly. We’re stripping, _now_ , and we’re getting wet.”

“Ooh sister, how we—”

“Shut up.” And then he was hit with water from the spray nozzle at the kitchen sink. He flinched, and you did a little happy dance for successfully catching him off guard. You knew the victory wouldn’t last long—he’d already tackled you to the ground and trapped your hand under his, holding down the spray nozzle and pointing it at the ceiling so you were both showered in cold kitchen rain.

You wanted to look angry, but you were laughing instead, euphoric under the little kisses the Drifter planted from your cheeks to your chin to your chest.

He sucked in a nipple and you were _wailing_.

“Mm, sensitive then, hotshot?”

“Not… usually…” Your reactions seemed to be out of your control.

“Just for me then, hmm? I can’t say I’m surprised…”

“You’re full of yourself.”

“Yeah? _Look at you_.” He leaned in and nipped your neck. “ _You’re_ about to be full of _me_ …”

You were gasping and he was all cock.

&

Lately you’d been doing your best to show the world nothing but _resting bitch face_ , _stoic disciple, disillusioned warrior_ , but here Drifter was pulling you from fury to disgust to joy to _wanting_ in his series of storage containers he passed off as living quarters… then you fought with the fear and pride in Gambit…

It was only a matter of time before you were hit _hard_ with the expected emotions of mourning…

&

Guilt.

Despair.

You flew far, but they always simmered right below.

The Drifter let you have your space—there wasn’t much of a choice.

He knew you needed to run yourself before you came to the same conclusion he did long ago—you can’t really ever run.

You can only drift.

&

Months. Annex. You. Drifter.

He wouldn’t call it a pout, and you’d never admit it was a pout (the word _grumpy_ was tossed around but you shot him a dirty look), so you both settled on _jet-lagged_ as your current mood.

“You gonna tell me what went down out there? No boast? No fanfare?”

You scoffed. "It's nothing you don't already know, Drifter. You shouldn't expect so much from me. I'm a nobody." 

"The Chosen One, a nobody? You must have gotten scrambled out there, forgettin' who you are and all." 

"Maybe I wanted to forget. Maybe I want everyone to forget." 

"'S awfully dark, sister. Mind givin' the details?" 

"It doesn't really matter now, I think. Won't last, really. I think you've already figured out enough, anyhow. You see too much for your own good, Drifter." _I’m pretty sure you knew what was going to happen anyway._

"Oh, an' when'd you get so wise?" 

"Thought you didn't like stupid questions, Drifter. You lettin' me back in Gambit, or what?" 

"You're right, I don't like stupid questions. Get on in there, hotshot. Don't disappoint." 

"I could never disappoint you, Drifter." Whether that was a declaration of your pride or your devotion, he couldn't be too sure. 

&

You fluttered together and apart, and others started to notice. Whispers followed, of the Drifter corrupting the _big damn hero_ —always running Gambit or running away, can’t be found at the Tower anymore, not since Cayde.

"It is true? Has the guardian-savior fallen under my spell? I _ache_ to think of what my touch has done to you, darlin'."

"My handful of darkness and how I use it has nothing to do with you, Drifter. I'm Awoken, it was always there— _I_ pulled it out. You didn't give it to me; you didn't corrupt me; you didn't burden me. Don't flatter yourself."

"Oh, so is that what you were doing off in the Dreaming City? _Finding yourself_?"

"I was taking revenge. Unfortunately, taking revenge also means taking what comes with it."

The Drifter exhibited a rare bout of silence— the kind that accompanies a mutual acceptance of an unfortunate truth.

You knew, and he knew, and in that moment you were together, _knowing_ —

and still not being able to do a damn thing.

&

It’d been a while since you’d had more than a “professional” encounter with the Drifter, (as professional as you can call Gambit, anyway) and even those meetings were interspersed by weeks of MIA from your side. The shift in his posture let you know he'd immediately sensed your presence. You knew exactly when to visit to catch him in the Annex alone. He didn't turn around.

"What're you doin' here, hotshot?"

You didn't have the energy in you to be anything other than honest. 

"I-"

The Drifter softened at your hesitation. His eyes flicked to you from the side.

"You can tell me, kid."

"I was lonely." Your voice was near inaudible but you held his gaze strong and steady. The Drifter set down whatever mechanics he was tinkering with and took cautious steps towards you. He ran his hands down your shoulders and held on at your upper arms.

"You want me to fix that?"

Your voice scratched and cracked like dry skin. "Yes please."

He bathed you in molasses.

&

The next time you two met wasn’t nearly as soft and patient.

"Drifter, the fuck was that?"

"Whatever do you mean. guardian?"

"You were just gonna leave us down one the whole match with spotty comms!?"

"Well you see-“

"I don't need you fucking with me, Drifter!"

_I just need you fucking me_ …

He slammed his hands down on the workbench with a harsh metal clang and immediately backed you into the railing, the bar digging in hard as Drifter forced your back into an arch with one hand in your hair and the other at your neck. You flinched and flooded with adrenaline.

"You think you're so dark now? You think you can compete with me? Do you know _who I am_?"

A whisper. "No one does..."

“And that lights a little fire in your belly, does it?” His hold on your neck tightened.

“Drift-“

“The City’s good girl is a bad girl now, and she wants the resident bad boy, driftin’ by, hm?”

“S-Someone’s gonna..”

“See us?” His growl of a voice was coating your skin in goosebumps. “See _you_ , arched back and begging for it? Yeah, maybe. But I don’t think you _really_ mind.”

His hand eased up on your neck and slid down to a firm hold on your shoulder as his mouth sucked a dark shining mark under your jaw so anyone could see.

“I think you _like_ belonging to me.”

“I'm- not yours-“

“Oh really?” His mouth continued to hover over his claim, breath damp with saliva. “A bit hard to believe from this position, hotshot..” And then his body was flush against yours, hard-on pressing right to your peach—you trembled.

"Sweetheart, let's get one thing straight: I’m in control here. What's my name? Say it."

"Dr- Drifter-!"

"Louder." He punctuated the order by grinding into you further.

"DRIFTER, please!! Please.."

“Hm, want something?” He started to rut steadily against you. “You’ll have to speak up, darl’…”

“I- I- Drifter, please I – want you..”

“Oh, want me, do ya? Want me for what, sweetheart?”

“Drifter, fuck me, fuck me _please_ Drifter, please..!” He loved reducing you to this—a babbling mess, desperate for him, for his touch, for his attention.

“There's my good girl.” He finally released your hair and your head fell forward to his shoulder as he grappled with the fastenings on both of your pants. Your arms were locked to the railing and shook from the weight of holding yourself up. You waited, breathing hard. Then you were naked from your ass to your knees, and the Drifter’s cock had popped from his layers and dived deep into your center.

His arms came ‘round to hold you tight and the two of you were tied.

&

The tangles pull tighter when the Drifter finds out what you’ve been neglecting. His callouses scrape over your peeking ribs. Every time you come back, your hair is longer (and you still haven’t brushed it).

"Sister, I will ban your sweet ass from Gambit if you don't start listening to your body." His voice dropped softer. "I want you healthy; I want you safe, hotshot."

"...I know.."

"No Dredgen, you really don't." He growled, and then he pounced.

&

That last primeval got you good. You were still peeling bark splinters from the cracks in your armor. The Drifter was waiting for you by your transmat space, arms crossed and angry.

"Show me."

"Drifter, what-?"

"Take your shirt off and show me."

"Show you what?"

"The bruises. Chop chop."

"Oh, come on, I'm f-"

"No way you got outta that one without some major damage, hotshot. You're not invincible. I'm willin' to bet you're hiding other wounds too."

"What's it matter? As long as I can still bank your motes, right?"

"Show me, or you're out."

"You keep saying that, but—"

The Drifter shrugged his palms up in surrender and turned to leave before you caved.

"Hey! Hey, wait, okay... just... can you help me out here?" Your eyes were down at his boots, and you were looking small. He stepped back toward you and put one hand on your slouched shoulder and the other at your chin, tipping it up to look into your face. You looked _so tired,_ and his worry showed on his face. Both hands then moved to unhook your cloak, slough off your chest gear, unbuckle your belts and fastenings, and let it all clatter to the floor. You moved your arms up or down at his instruction, but otherwise stayed very still. Eventually he was at your long undersleeves, torn twice by the collar. He pulled you out of it, leaving you exposed in your breastband.

You were covered in bruises—the new ones on top an angry red, the old ones faded to an ugly yellow or dusky purple.

The Drifter was shocked. You went ahead and answered the question blatantly on his face.

"I told Ghost not to heal them. Wanted to feel the hurt."

He said nothing for probably the first time in his life as he traced his fingertips from your shoulders to your hips. He trailed around your waist in a loose circle, keeping smooth contact until he brushed up against something rough right at the waistband of your pants.

Your stomach dropped but you didn't let your face show it.

"(Y/N)..." You said nothing. "The fuck is this?" You shrugged, and his temper flared. He pulled the fabric down over your hip without exposing you—but he did expose your battleground of self-harm slices and scars.

His eyes lingered, but he didn't touch. For all the world, you couldn't read him. He abruptly turned around and dragged his hand down his face before spinning, pulling your knife, and hurling it across the room. It skittered to a stop next to a busted mote bank. What he did next had you in tears for the first time since Cayde.

The Drifter dropped to his knees before you, pulled you closer with one hand on your thigh and the other on your waist, and layered kiss after kiss upon your angry, crisscrossed hip. He rested his forehead over the scars and pulled at the other side of your pants, drawing back when he felt the evidence of the same markings on your other hip. He shuffled on his knees and gave it the same treatment. You were in shock. You broke from your trance when you felt a tear tickling down your cheek; you brought your hand up to catch it and then stared at the unfamiliar wetness on your fingers.

The Drifter spoke then, as soft as he could. "Please stop..."

You were in awe. Your hand went to his hair, and you collapsed in front of him as you touched it. You couldn't look him in the eyes so you looked at the four inches of Derelict floor between you.

"I'm sorry..."

"Don't be sorry, be better." You could feel him looking at you then, and when you didn't meet his gaze, he left you wordless on the floor of his ship, staring at your hands.

&

You were brawling with a fallen captain in the Ruins, and then you were waking up on the floor of the Derelict with your ghost buzzing overhead.

"Mmrgh?"

"This isn't what I'd call being better," Guardian."

"If you recall, I never said I'd do anything for you."

"It shouldn't have to be for me! You should be eating! And sleeping! And healing! Why aren't you!?"

"I- I've been b-busy, I.. forgot..."

"Well you better fucking _remember_ to take care of yourself from now on, hear me?"

_Yeah, okay maybe._

&

Your eyes were in a daze the Drifter recognized.

"Yeah, the Dreaming City... don't wander in the fog too long. Trust me."

"Sometimes I can't tell if I'm awake.

Am I awake, Drifter?

If this is a dream, I know what you're going to say next, so go on."

"...Kiddo, I don't know what you're expecting.."

"Awake then, splendid!" You turned on your heel and power-walked out.

&

You never got the full conversation. You got pieces, from dream to dream.

_"Am I awake, Drifter?"  
_

_"Of course you are, love."  
_

_"Do you love me, Drifter?"  
_

_"I really do, hotshot."  
_

_"Promise?"  
_

_"I promise."  
_

_"...If only you weren't a liar."  
_

_"If only."_

&

_"I want to be awake, Drifter."  
_

_"I know, love."  
_

_"I wish I was awake. I wish we were awake. I wish you loved me."  
_

_"I know." // "I do."  
_

_"I love you." // "I love you too."  
_

_"Even if I'm a liar?"  
_

_You took his hand and squeezed._

&

You didn't want his help. You didn't want him. You didn't.

&

He kept his word about banning you from Gambit. Obviously, you had to act like you didn't care, so you dropped off the map and drank yourself half-dead.

He found you about a week and a half into your pity party. You were a loud drunk.

You woke up on the Derelict and pretended like you didn't want to be there. The Drifter made pancakes. You asked him to marry you. He said yes.

"I was talking to the pancakes."

But you weren't.

&

The two of you were tangled in sloppy sex and drunken pillow talk.

"Please be careful... please."

"For you, Drifter?” _He’d gone looking for you… he’d asked around, he’d dragged you back…_

“Now? I might just try."

&

You showed up in the Annex with your hair cropped up back to its old envy and _Breakneck_ propped up on your shoulder. You flicked the Drifter one of his jade coins from his blind spot and he put his arm palm out to catch it, not even looking up from where he was hunched over the work bench when he felt it make contact. When he brought his hand back the surprise actually showed on his face when he held no coin. He looked up to where you stood in his periphery weaving the coin between your fingers, then securing it tight in your palm before throwing it for real this time.

"Neat trick."

"Learned from the best."

With a touch of his dramatic flair, Drifter waved you on through to the sign ups. 

&

You and the Drifter sat on the ledge together, thighs pressed close, feet dangling.

It was so dark outside.

"Hey Drifter?"

"Mm?"

"Will you ever tell me your name?"

"Hmm, you got something worthwhile to trade?"

"Sure."

"Well put it on the table."

You eased yourself up off the tower ledge and walked to the stone benches behind you, lifting up to plant your butt on the round table they encircled. You looked at the Drifter, who had turned to face you.

"Me."

He grinned.

"Sister, we've got a deal."


End file.
